


'tis the damn season

by sakuatsulifestyle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confusion, Fluff, M/M, MSBY, Mutual Pining, They are just dumb, but only omi's pov, i love inunaki, like MAYBE a smidge of angst but... no, p much just fluff, same w shobio kinda, sunaosa mentioned but they're rly not in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 08:48:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuatsulifestyle/pseuds/sakuatsulifestyle
Summary: Kiyoomi : I can't believe I have to kiss AtsumuEveryone else : u don't have toKiyoomi : no, I'm going to
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	'tis the damn season

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to taylor and it made me think of them that is all

Kiyoomi knows he’s making a mistake as soon as he steps into his and Atsumu’s shared hotel room on the friday night before their game, but the thing is, he’s already decided to make it.  
He turns to the bed by the wall— Atsumu knows to take the window one by now— and rolls his suitcase to the side. Then he lets himself go through his usual routine for a few minutes, making sure everything in the room is clean enough, the way that he likes it. Finding nothing terribly wrong, he hesitates, and then sits on the mattress and watches Atsumu stand at the end of his own bed, scrolling on his phone.  
Kiyoomi lets himself watch for a minute, if only to wonder, _why him_?  
Then he forces himself to look away.  
Oblivious to Kiyoomi’s internal torture, Atsumu is chuckling lightly at something he’s seen on instagram, probably, and Kiyoomi has to call his name twice.  
“Miya.”  
“Hm?” Atsumu hears him the second time, but doesn’t look up from his phone.  
Kiyoomi frowns, but it’s probably easier like this. Maybe Atsumu won’t hear anything.  
“Do you ever want to…” He trails off.  
“Huh?” Atsumu turns to him finally. “Whatcha say?”  
_Mistake_. His mind yells at him. _This is your out_.  
He repeats himself anyway.  
“Do you ever think about kissing your friends?”  
Atsumu blinks at him, big brown eyes full of confusion.  
“For fun.” Kiyoomi elaborates. “Like… making out.”  
_God this is so awkward_.  
“Friends…? You… make out? For fun?” Atsumu repeats the words in fragments like they don’t belong in the same universe as each other, let alone the same sentence.  
Kiyoomi narrows his eyes, ready to take it all back as some stupid mistake— pre game nerves making his head crazy— but then Atsumu answers, scratching at the back of his head.  
“But I mean… yeah.” He says. “I do.”  
_Oh_. Kiyoomi’s heart jumps in his chest.  
“Do you ever think about kissing me?”  
He chastises himself internally. He sounds desperate. Atsumu has probably gotten the hint.  
“D’ya ever think about kissin’ _me_?” Is the answer Atsumu gives him.  
_Ew, no_ , half of him is tempted to say.  
“You’re not at the bottom of my list.” He admits instead.  
Atsumu watches him, phone hanging by his side, forgotten in his hand.  
“Yer not too low on mine either.”  
Kiyoomi wonders what to say to that. He holds their gaze, almost a challenge, and Atsumu isn’t looking away.  
“So…?” Atsumu tries.  
“So…” Kiyoomi echoes.  
Atsumu frowns slightly. “Does this mean ya wanna make out?”  
_No_ , he thinks. _No, I definitely don’t want that_.  
“Yeah.” Is what comes out of his mouth.  
Atsumu nods, stepping halfway across the room. “Like, right now?”  
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Unless you want to set a date in your calendar.”  
“Y’know I’d never use a calendar.”  
Kiyoomi almost laughs, but there’s too much clutter swirling through his mind.  
“Ya better not call me Miya when we kiss.” Atsumu says next, coming closer until he’s only a few feet from Kiyoomi, looking down at him where he sits on his bed.  
Kiyoomi frowns. “Why not?”  
“It’s weird.” Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “Sides, I’m used to Atsumu. Miya just makes me feel like ya don’t know whether yer lookin’ at me or my brother, and I don’t wanna feel like that in a situation like the one we’re about to be in… also, I’d rather the whole team call me Atsumu.”  
Kiyoomi is well aware that he’s the only member of MSBY who still calls Atsumu by his family name— but it’s not as though he’s on given name basis with everyone else either.  
“Fine.” He says, standing to put them on equal ground. “I’ll agree to that, but you have to promise me something.”  
Atsumu just stares at him expectantly.  
“This doesn’t leave the room.”  
“Yeah, yeah.” Atsumu rolls his eyes almost immediately. “Ya think I’m gonna be running around to tell everyone I can that I kissed Sakusa Kiyoomi?”  
Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at what feels like an apparent dig at him. “You can just say you don’t want to.”  
“Sorry.” Atsumu says. “That’s not what I— I’m just sayin’ it’s embarrassin’.”  
Kiyoomi feels his lip curl. “It’s embarrassing for me too.”  
“Well, it’s probably more embarrassin’ for me! I mean, no offence, but between the two of us, I’m definitely the more popular—”  
“If by more popular you mean more embarrassing.” Kiyoomi retorts. “I’m not the one that tripped at a press event—”  
“Jesus, do we hafta bring that up now?” Atsumu groans.  
“You’re the one who started this.”  
“No, I’m really not—”  
“Oh my god, can you just shut up?” Kiyoomi snaps, just before he winds his fist in the front of Atsumu’s shirt and brings their mouths together.  
There’s a moment— Atsumu freezes, and Kiyoomi wonders what the hell he’s just done— but then his actions are being reciprocated, and he stops thinking for a few seconds.  
Atsumu tastes kind of salty, but it’s endearing in a strange way.  
It’s wet and messy and warm and sloppy and everything that Kiyoomi thinks he should hate, especially with Atsumu. A part of him had hoped he would hate it— then maybe this stupid… infatuation or whatever it is he’s been fighting against for the past couple of months would go away. But he doesn’t hate it. Not even a little.  
In fact, neither of them seem to hate it all that much.  
“Omi,” Atsumu breathes, and Kiyoomi feels his knees go humiliatingly weak. “Ya taste good.”  
And the last of his self control is out the window at those three words.  
His other hand finds the front of his teammates shirt as well, pulling him in closer, and Atsumu’s hands make their way around him, one winding in the back of his hair.  
“I don’t think—” Kiyoomi’s words are broken between kisses. “This is how— friends are supposed to make out.”  
“I don’t think—” Atsumu imitates his kiss interrupted speech. “Friends— are supposed to make out at all.”  
Kiyoomi wants to argue, but his mind is no longer in the right space to be forming any coherent sentences that don’t have the word _Atsumu_ in them, and he doesn’t feel like embarrassing himself further, so he keeps his mouth shut.  
He doesn’t realize they’re moving until his back bumps against the wall— Atsumu’s hand protecting his head— their bodies closer than he’d imagined the two of them would ever be.  
Kiyoomi is a self proclaimed man of few words. What really is the point in voicing his thoughts sometimes? It’s often more effort than what it’s worth, especially around someone like Atsumu who’s prone to find some way to argue with anything he says.  
So he finds it near impossible to believe that he’d asked Miya Atsumu to kiss him, and that here they are, fitting together as though they’re meant to do this. That can’t be true, can it? They’re teammates, but that’s all. Off the court they aren’t even friends, really. Not like Atsumu, Bokuto, and Hinata are. Even Inunaki, and sometimes Tomas, Barnes, and Meian go out with them. Kiyoomi is the only one who hasn’t put in the effort to bond with the team outside of when they’re essentially forced to be in each other’s company. Not that he doesn’t like them, but sometimes he can’t help the feeling that he doesn’t fit in with the rest of them. That he isn’t really quite like them. That once they’ve retired, the others will still be friends, and he’ll be the old teammate that they only occasionally think about, and maybe, on one of their nights out, one of them will ask, “ _anyone heard what Sakusa has been up to?”_  
He snaps out of his head when a few bangs sound from outside the room.  
Kiyoomi jumps in spite of himself and Atsumu pulls back, head flicking to the door. He clears his throat, one hand still on the wall, trapping Kiyoomi between it and himself, before he calls out.  
“Hello?”  
“Hey guys,” Meian’s voice says. “I just came to let you know we’re having a debrief in five. My room.”  
“Okay!” Atsumu calls back, still refusing to move at all. “See ya then, captain!”  
Kiyoomi doesn’t dare move either. He isn’t sure what will happen to him if he does. Nothing, realistically, he knows, but he can’t help the nervous energy inside him. He feels frozen, like an antelope being stalked by a lion.  
_You’re not prey_ , he reminds himself. _And Atsumu isn’t a wild animal_.  
He starts to question just how true that is when Atsumu turns his darkened eyes back to him and mumbles quietly, “we’ll finish this when we get back.”  
Something in Kiyoomi brings him to his senses then, pulling him right off the ledge he’d already had one foot over, before his brain can finish the half constructed vision of him and Atsumu showing up to team reunions together— the others hearing what he’s been up to from his own mouth. He pushes Atsumu back by the chest.  
“We’re done.” He says. “That… was it.”  
He doesn’t miss the look of disappointment that flashes across Atsumu’s face.  
He wishes he’d missed the realization that he feels the same thing.

The team meeting doesn’t last long— they go over some thoughts for the game against the Raijins the next evening, and then the conversation diverges and Hinata and Bokuto start yelling about something Kiyoomi doesn’t care to listen to. Atsumu is participating as well, but he’s quieter than usual, and he follows when Kiyoomi tells the team he’s going back to their room.  
Kiyoomi is stiflingly aware of Atsumu walking just a few steps behind him, and holds the door when they enter the room. He doesn’t look back though, heading straight for his bed.  
While he sorts his things, he can feel Atsumu is looking at him, and though he so badly wants to meet his eyes, a part of him is scared of what will happen if he does.  
“Ya ever thought about kissing yer friends twice, Omi-kun?” Atsumu’s voice floats over from across the room.  
_Yes_.  
“No.”  
“Hmph.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kiyoomi can see Atsumu still watching him. “Ya sure?”  
Kiyoomi grunts. “We already made out.” He says, watching Atsumu disappear into the bathroom. “Curiosity satisfied.”  
It’s true, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to do it again. He very much does, actually.  
Atsumu pokes his head out of the bathroom, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.  
“That was barely makin’ out, Omi-kun.” He mumbles. Kiyoomi is glad none of the toothpaste-spit mixture flies out of his mouth. “I didn’t get to show ya everythin’ I’ve got. I can do better, promise.”  
“Is that so?” Kiyoomi asks, admittedly interested.  
Atsumu nods quickly and the handle of the toothbrush in his mouth flies around wildly. He turns back into the bathroom and turns the sink on, and Kiyoomi hears his voice raise in volume to speak over it.  
“Ya said it couldn’t leave the room…” Atsumu reminds him. “Well, we’re in the room. Just us. What’s the difference between one time and ten times in the same room on the same weekend?”  
Kiyoomi’s brain tells him there’s a big, big difference, but a part of him already knows he isn’t going to listen to himself. In the same way that he knew what he was going to do the moment they’d arrived at the hotel.  
“I guess.” He allows. “There isn’t really much of a difference.”  
“That’s what I’m sayin’, Omi.” Atsumu gives him a half smile when he steps back out of the bathroom. “So this…” He steps towards him and into his space. “Might be okay then?”  
Kiyoomi gives him one of his softest glares. “Obviously.”  
“And this?” Atsumu reaches forward slowly, taking Kiyoomi’s face in one of his hands.  
“Are you trying to get me to say no?”  
“I’m tryin’ to hear ya say yes.”  
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to ask for it. He wants Atsumu to hurry up and put him out of his misery, but he has to admit there’s a sort of fondness that grows in him at the thought of Atsumu caring enough to ask for consent.  
He furrows his eyebrows at his own low set bar— of course Atsumu would ask for consent. He may be annoying and arrogant, but he’s a genuinely sweet and caring man.  
Kiyoomi frowns next in abject horror at his own thoughts. Since when does he consider Atsumu sweet and caring?  
If he wasn’t already screwed before arriving at the hotel, he definitely is now.  
“Don’t pull that kinda face, Omi-Omi.” Atsumu sings. “It’s just a simple yes or no question.”  
“Yes, okay, can you just—”  
That’s all it takes for Atsumu to all but throw himself onto him, and Kiyoomi doesn’t even have time to be horrified at how quickly and effortlessly he reacts to it.  
Atsumu’s mouth on his own feels right, and their arms around each other feel natural, and the sound that Atsumu makes in the back of his throat does something to Kiyoomi that he’d rather not think about.  
“I’m jealous of whoever else has ever got to do this to ya for more than a weekend, Omi.” Atsumu sighs.  
Kiyoomi leans back to wipe at his lips.  
“Actually, I’ve never kissed anyone else.” He says.  
Atsumu’s mouth falls open. “You— whaddaya mean ya… that last night— that was yer first kiss? And ya let me do it like that?”  
Kiyoomi lifts an eyebrow. “I thought it was fine.”  
Atsumu looks caught between smug and confused. “Well— thank you— but that’s just not… for a first kiss… ya shoulda told me! I’d’ve…”  
“You’d have what?” Kiyoomi feels one of the edges of his mouth turn up.  
“I’d… here, sit down.” Atsumu directs him to the end of Kiyoomi’s bed, and they sit cross legged, facing each other with their knees touching.  
He’s painfully aware of the clothing on clothing contact between them, and he ignores the voice in his head telling him to get rid of the unneeded barrier and touch Atsumu the way he wants to.  
“Why haven’t ya ever dated anyone? Ya haven’t, right?”  
Kiyoomi shrugs, shaking his head. “No big deal, I just haven’t had time. Never bothered. Besides, I never really entertained the thought of making out with most people.”  
Atsumu’s face lights up. “So yer sayin’ I’m not most people, then?”  
Kiyoomi realizes his mistake too late. “You’re worse than most people.”  
Atsumu laughs. “Obviously not in yer opinion, since I’m the one ya decided to make out with!”  
“Circumstance.” Kiyoomi says.  
“Mhm, sure, Omi-kun. Can’t ya just admit ya like me?”  
“As if.”  
“Okay, at least admit ya wanna kiss me.”  
Kiyoomi truly does glare at him then. “Are you dumb?”  
Atsumu laughs, unfazed.  
“Alright, fine then.”  
“Why are we sitting here…” Kiyoomi asks, deadpan.  
Atsumu rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna teach ya how to kiss, obviously.”  
“I think I know how to kiss, Miya.”  
Atsumu tuts. “What’d I say about calling me Miya? Yer failin’ step one already.”  
“Fine.” Kiyoomi growls.  
He expects Atsumu to push it— “ _c’mon, say my name, Omi-Omi_ ”, would be very on brand for him— but he doesn’t.  
“Okay, so.” Atsumu forges onward. “After the no Miya rule, the second step to kissin’ is to make sure yer attracted to the person yer gonna kiss. I think we got that one covered, because I’m smokin’ hot, so of course yer attracted to me, and for some reason, I find yer snotty little face not terrible to look at—”  
“I don’t think this is necessary.” Kiyoomi grits out. “Also, fuck off.”  
Atsumu grins.  
Kiyoomi frowns. “You do realize that calling step one the no Miya rule makes it sound like I should never kiss a Miya, right?”  
“Hey! Kissin’ a Miya is a privilege, Omi-kun. Ya should be grateful. Yer gonna wanna kiss a Miya for the rest of yer life when I’m done with ya.”  
“Can I have Osamu’s number then?”  
Atsumu’s jaw goes slack. “Ouch, Omi-Omi. Seriously, what the fuck?”  
Kiyoomi snickers, and Atsumu shoves him.  
When Kiyoomi looks back up, Atsumu is watching him somewhat fondly, an impressive feat to manage through narrowed eyes.  
“C’mere.” He says, and Kiyoomi doesn’t reply, figuring the talking part is over.  
When their lips meet, they’re still for a minute until Atsumu pulls back to press noisier, slower kisses to Kiyoomi’s mouth. He reciprocates, though he doesn’t feel as sure of himself as Atsumu is acting. When he feels Atsumu’s tongue licking at his lower lip he opens his mouth, and Atsumu’s hands move to his face.  
“How should I—”  
“Like this,” Atsumu demonstrates, finding Kiyoomi’s tongue with his own.  
Atsumu moves his mouth in slow, practiced motions, and as he tries to copy him, Kiyoomi wonders just how many times he’s done this. He finds he doesn’t like the thought.  
“I don’t see how this—” Kiyoomi’s voice leaves him when Atsumu pulls lightly at the hair on the back of his head at the same time as he sucks Kiyoomi’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting at it lightly.  
He moans— fucking _moans_ — into Atsumu’s mouth, which he’s sure he will never live down. Atsumu is breathless, but he sounds even more smug than usual when he says, “good enough for ya, Omi-Omi?”  
“Shut up.” Kiyoomi breathes, his face burning, though he makes no effort to push Atsumu away.  
They continue to kiss, and it gets lazier and messier but Kiyoomi likes it that way. It feels more like Atsumu.  
They don’t stop, and when Kiyoomi starts to feel tired and lays out on his side, Atsumu follows him.  
They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, breaking to breathe, or when Atsumu has a suggestion for him— though he doesn’t have many. At some point their heads hit his pillow, and their faces are so close together he can feel Atsumu’s breath on his cheeks as it starts to even out.  
He thinks he should really tell Atsumu to get back in his own bed, and he should probably brush his teeth again after all the spit they just swapped, but Atsumu’s body so close beside him is warm, and when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a yawn.

~

“Hey Omi-Omi.” Atsumu’s voice comes with the sounds of curtains screeching open, and a flash of sunlight into the room.  
Kiyoomi opens his eyes and regrets it immediately, rolling towards the wall with a groan.  
“Get up.” Atsumu flings a pillow at the back of his head.  
Kiyoomi reaches for it and blindly tosses it back behind himself, satisfied when he hears Atsumu hiss.  
“Omi-kun, yer so grumpy in the morning!”  
“What’s with you?” Kiyoomi snaps. “Can you shut up?”  
Atsumu huffs. “Look, I know ya like to sleep in a bit when we’ve got late games, but it’s 9, so ya woulda been about to wake up anyway.”  
Kiyoomi frowns into his pillow, because while that’s true, he’s not going to admit it to Atsumu.  
“Breakfast is closing at 10 too, so ya should probably get down soon. I went before my jog, but I’ll go again with ya if ya want to wait for me to shower real quick. Here, by the way.” Atsumu is holding a plain white mug out to him when Kiyoomi rolls over.  
It’s hot to the touch, and he has to adjust his grip on it a couple of times to hold the handle when he sits up to take it.  
“Black tea?” He raises an eyebrow.  
“Uh huh.” Atsumu nods. “Isn’t that what ya drink in the mornin’?”  
“Yeah…” Kiyoomi says. “It is.”  
“So yer welcome then.”  
Atsumu heads towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt off and flinging it towards his suitcase on the floor across the room.  
“Thank you…?” Kiyoomi says, choosing to ignore the sweaty clothes flying through the air and instead taking a sip of the tea.  
He watches Atsumu, who turns and raises his eyebrows when he catches the look on Kiyoomi’s face. “What? Are ya confused ‘bout how I knew what ya like to drink? Yer a creature of habit, Omi-kun. Not that hard to figure out.”  
Kiyoomi frowns harder.  
Not-that-hard-to-figure-out had never been the way most people would describe him. In fact, he doesn’t think anyone has ever said something remotely like that about him. He’s not sure that he likes it. Not coming from Atsumu anyways.  
He doesn’t voice his thoughts, and he remains in the bed drinking his tea as he hears the shower turn on.  
The sound of the water acts like white noise, and Kiyoomi is distracted until he catches Atsumu’s voice humming something he doesn’t recognize from inside the bathroom, and he briefly wonders what it might be like to hear it from up close. To have Atsumu’s hands rub shampoo and conditioner through his hair, sing softly in his ear while the hot water—  
He blinks, and then he stands quickly. He sets his mug down and finds a sweater and some sweatpants, then pulls his slippers out of the closet and kicks them on. He finds his tea again, and then he leaves the room, figuring it’s better to have to do his bathroom routine after breakfast than to stick around and have to see Atsumu come out of the shower.  
Meian and Inunaki are eating when he arrives downstairs, and they wave him over to their table.  
After picking through the breakfast bar— which takes longer than it should when you have to wipe down the tongs and utensils— Kiyoomi joins them.  
“Hi Sakusa-kun.” Meian greets.  
“Morning Kiyoomi-kun.” Inunaki smiles brightly at him.  
Kiyoomi forces a pained smile back— he likes and respects their captain, and he’s always liked Inunaki, but in his current headspace (having just woken up and then finding himself daydreaming about domesticity with his most annoying teammate) he finds it hard to be present.  
He’s saved— or maybe further cursed— when Atsumu arrives at the table not ten minutes later, stopping and then completely redirecting the flow of the conversation to himself. He’s good at that.  
“Omi! Ya didn’t wait for me to get breakfast.”  
“Sorry.” Kiyoomi trains his eyes on his plate, picking at the scraps of food he couldn’t stomach that are littering the space. “I was hungry.”  
Atsumu shifts his eyes to Kiyoomi’s plate as well, but he shrugs and flops into the seat across from him.  
“I can’t wait to play tonight.” Atsumu groans. “Late games are the worst. We gotta be up for so long waitin’…”  
“We could have been up later.” Kiyoomi grumbles.  
“Oh shut up ya urchin.”  
Inunaki laughs. “Did you wake him before his alarm, Tsumu? You remember what happened to Bokuto when he tried that last year… you’re lucky to be alive.”  
Atsumu waves a hand. “Nah, Omi-kun’s not as scary as he thinks he is.”

After breakfast, Kiyoomi stretches and uses his foam roller on the floor in their room while Atsumu shuffles through his suitcase, flinging his clothes around.  
“Babe,” Atsumu calls from behind his bed. “Have ya seen my team jacket lyin’ around?”  
Kiyoomi blinks, stopping his motion on the roller. “What the fuck did you just say?”  
“My jacket?” Atsumu’s head pops up above his mattress. “I was wearin’ it yesterday.”  
“No,” Kiyoomi says, “I mean— not… you can’t call me babe.”  
Atsumu frowns at him. “Why not?”  
“Friends don’t call each other babe.”  
Atsumu seems to think on that for a minute. “Friends don’t do what we did last night either.”  
“Well,” Kiyoomi splutters. “Maybe they do. Sometimes. But we have to draw a line somewhere and I’m drawing it at babe—”  
“Okay, jeez.” Atsumu sighs. Then he grins. “Sweetheart.”  
Kiyoomi bristles. “No.”  
“Honey?”  
“No.”  
“Sugar—?”  
“Those are worse.”  
“They’re only gonna keep gettin’ worse the less inventive I get.” Atsumu warns. His gaze falls to the floor by Kiyoomi’s bed. “Aha!” He hurries over to pull his yellow jacket out from under it.  
When he turns they stare at each other for a minute, at an impasse, and Kiyoomi feels his resolve cracking. Something that seems to be becoming more and more common around Atsumu. He chooses not to think about that.  
“Fine.” He gets out. “You can call me babe for the weekend. That’s it. And only in this room. Then you will never direct that word at me again.”  
Atsumu looks just a little bit smug. “Deal. Babe.”  
Kiyoomi doesn’t try to curb the look of disgust that comes over his face then. It’s the least that Atsumu deserves right now.  
He turns in huff and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.

~ 

Their game that evening is close— the Raijins play better than Kiyoomi’s ever seen them play, though he was right to assume the Jackals still had the better team.  
Atsumu plays exceedingly well, and he seems to enjoy himself, spending as much of the game as possible making quips and snide remarks at Suna from across the net. Kiyoomi would have to be lying to say he isn’t bothered by Atsumu’s lack of attention to him, so that’s what he does (he lies to himself, that is).  
He tries to work it all out in his head. Why should it bother him now? It isn’t like Atsumu had always paid him the most attention anyways. Besides, Suna is an old friend, so of course they’ll get along.  
He wonders momentarily if Atsumu and Suna were ever the type of friends he and Atsumu are currently, and he misses a serve from the Raijins going right past his head.

Atsumu corners him in the locker room after the game.  
“What’s goin’ on up there?” He reaches to tap at Kiyoomi’s head, who leans away half heartedly. “I’m serious, Omi, ya seemed off today.”  
“Yes, thank you, I know I played badly.” Kiyoomi grumbles in response.  
“No, that’s not what I—” Atsumu laughs a little. “Ya just seemed lost in thought.”  
“I guess I was overthinking.” He allows sullenly.  
“Bout what?” Atsumu presses, because he’s Atsumu, but Kiyoomi has shared all that he feels like sharing.  
“None of your business.”  
The look on Atsumu’s face tells him he has a pretty good guess as to what Kiyoomi had been thinking about, and it’s infuriating.  
Kiyoomi grabs his bag and stomps out to the bus, pretending not to notice the overly loud blond that parks himself in the seat directly behind him.

The bus brings them back to their hotel, where he showers immediately, and then pulls his sweatpants and shirt on before getting into his bed. He spends the length of Atsumu’s shower reading a book his parents had bought him a couple of months ago, and then turns out the lamp on his side of the room when the water stops running.  
He closes his eyes while he waits for Atsumu to get dressed, hoping to be left alone. He has no such luck. He supposes that’s what he gets for befriending someone so annoying.  
“I know yer awake.” Atsumu says.  
Kiyoomi doesn’t answer, but his distaste must be evident on his face, because Atsumu says, “stop frowning!”  
Kiyoomi opens his eyes and glares.  
“I’d be asleep if you weren’t so loud.”  
“I’m sorry that I have to shower after we play.” Atsumu rolls his eyes, and Kiyoomi rolls over to face the wall.  
“Omi-kun,” Atsumu starts, “before ya put yer sleeping pants on—”  
“No.” Kiyoomi interrupts, knowing exactly what’s coming. He narrows his eyes at the fact that Atsumu is aware that he has a specific pair of sleeping pants, and even worse, that he can tell the difference between those and his lounging pants.  
“Ya don’t even know what I was gonna ask!”  
“I’m not going.”  
Kiyoomi’s post game plans include isolation, maybe a face mask, his book, some stretching, and then getting to sleep— with earplugs in to decrease the chances of being abruptly woken by his drunk teammate coming back to the room. His plans don’t include being coerced by his team into going out, and he knows that if Atsumu presses him, that’s exactly what will happen.  
“C’mon, Omi…” Atsumu whines, as if he’d read his mind and is doing his best to spite him for his thoughts. “Just show for a little— an hour, maybe less. Everyone will be excited. Please?” He pouts, and Kiyoomi hates himself for falling for it.  
He holds out for as long as he can, if only to pretend that he still has any sort of assent when it comes to denying Atsumu anything.  
“Fine.” He says eventually. “An hour. And you’re not allowed to abandon me, or force me to eat or drink anything gross.”  
“Ya got my word, Omi-Omi.” Atsumu holds a hand to his heart. “I’m with ya all night.”

True to his word, as promised, Atsumu takes him to the bar, and stays close as they enter. It’s like he can smell Kiyoomi’s hesitation, because he walks half a step behind him, as if to keep him from bolting.  
“Omi-kun!” Bokuto shrieks when they walk in, and Atsumu has to push him the rest of the way through the entrance when he pauses in shock at their teammates' volume.  
“I’m here too, Bokkun!” Atsumu calls back.  
“Yeah, but—” Bokuto stumbles on his way over to them, spilling half the contents of one of his drinks. He pays no mind to this. “You’re always here! Omi-kun’s never out at these things!”  
“For good reason.” Kiyoomi mumbles. “This is a cesspool.”  
“Calm down, Omi-Omi.” Atsumu snorts. “Yer not gonna catch any diseases. ‘Sides, tomorrow’s party is at the hotel pool and bar, and that’ll probably be worse. This is good practice.”  
Bokuto’s eyes widen. “Omi-kun is coming to that too?”  
“Definitely not.” Kiyoomi says, at the same time as Atsumu assures, “course he is.”  
They share a look, Kiyoomi’s decidedly more malicious.  
“You’ve gotta have something to drink— please— here I’ve got—” Bokuto spins around a few times, searching through the drinks on the table most of the Jackals have occupied.  
Kiyoomi’s face must tell them there’s absolutely no way he’ll be drinking from any of those, because Hinata runs over soon after with a tray of new, full shot glasses.  
“Please do shots with us, Omi-san!” Hinata begs, his face flushed. Kageyama stands quiet and stone faced behind him.  
Kiyoomi doesn’t remember agreeing to anything, but the shot glasses are passed around, and the five of them stand in a loose circle by the table. He stares into his drink, but all he can think about is Atsumu’s hand on the small of his back, where it’s been since they walked in.  
“Drink!” Hinata announces, and Kiyoomi snaps back to reality, doing as he’s told. “Wait— lime first— no, salt…?” Hinata looks at his hand in confusion, and Kiyoomi nearly chokes, following his drink with both at once.  
Atsumu wheezes, tears in his eyes, and Kiyoomi elbows him in the side.

Twenty minutes and another three shots later he’s starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, and becomes much less aware of the fact that along with the hand on his back, Atsumu’s other hand has moved to his thigh, just above his knee.  
“Careful there, baby.” Atsumu purrs in his ear after Kiyoomi accepts a fifth drink from Inunaki, who is sporting a truly evil smile.  
Kiyoomi knows his face is red, but he hopes it can be blamed on the shots. He can’t pour the fifth one down his throat quickly enough.  
He doesn’t call Atsumu on the pet name. He blames that on the shots too.  
With the next song that comes onto the speakers, Atsumu perks up, his eyes sparkling. He gets up on his chair in a crouching position, and Kiyoomi puts a hand on the back of it to stop it from wobbling.  
“Who requested this?” Atsumu shouts into the fray, scanning the crowd.  
He eventually finds what— or rather who— he was looking for and yells, “Bokkun! I can’t believe ya even remember that night!”  
Bokuto shouts something incoherent to Kiyoomi’s ears in return, and Atsumu laughs before he sits back down.  
“What night?”  
Atsumu turns to him. “Ya never heard the story of when Bokkun broke a table at a karaoke bar earlier this year?”  
Kiyoomi smiles lazily. “He didn’t.”  
“Oh, he did.” Atsumu grins. “Singin’ this very song.”  
Kiyoomi laughs. “What song is this?”  
“Yer not seriously tellin’ me you’ve never heard this song?” Atsumu’s face is incredulous.  
Kiyoomi shakes his head.  
“Whitney Houston?” Atsumu tries.  
Kiyoomi shrugs, though he knows the name.  
Atsumu looks appalled. “I wanna dance with somebody? Omi-kun, ya uncultured little… c’mere, yer gonna experience this.”  
He protests weakly, claiming inability to dance, but Atsumu is much more stable and much less drunk than he is, and has no trouble coaxing him onto the dancefloor.  
It becomes apparent that he isn’t going to be able to escape, so Kiyoomi simply refuses to do any work, opting instead to completely drape himself over Atsumu, who just laughs despite the impairment on his movement.  
“Omi-Omi,” Atsumu mumbles. “Yer not gonna learn to dance like this.”  
“Don’t care.”  
Atsumu says nothing more, just sways from side to side to the beat.  
Kiyoomi rests his forehead on Atsumu’s shoulder so that all he sees are their legs and feet, and he thinks the song isn’t so bad. It might have just become his new favourite.  
Midway through it, Inunaki’s slightly flushed face appears in his field of view— which is bravely close to Atsumu’s armpit.  
“Holding up, Kiyoomi-kun?”  
Kiyoomi just grunts, too weary to form a proper response.  
“I requested you a song after this one.”  
Kiyoomi pales at the look on Inunaki’s face when he says this— because he’s known his teammates long enough to understand them, and this is definitely what Atsumu has come to describe as Inunaki’s “ _I’m up to something but you won’t find out what it is until it’s too late_ ” face.  
Kiyoomi has an idea of what’s coming though, despite his clouded mind, and he gathers all of his remaining energy to pull his head up from Atsumu’s shoulder.  
“Can you take me to the washroom?” He mumbles, because he really does have to pee, and he thinks he and Atsumu might be safer in there than on the dancefloor with the rest of the Jackals.  
Atsumu pulls him to the back of the bar and waits for him by the sinks in the restroom. The next song comes as he’s expected— a slow one, courtesy of Inunaki.  
Kiyoomi snorts from inside the stall, and Atsumu laughs like he knows who was behind it too.  
“Were they tryna catch us with this out there?”  
Kiyoomi nods when he comes out, blinking hard as he makes his way to the sinks. He washes his hands, and then accepts the paper towel Atsumu is holding out to him.  
“Can’t catch us in here.” He says once he’s tossed it, turning to Atsumu and stumbling a little in his step closer.  
“Yer right about that.” Says Atsumu, arms open to catch him.  
They lean against each other, and Kiyoomi thinks of the first time they were so close, in their room two nights ago. He continues to be surprised at how they mold to each other like two halves of a whole, surprised by how easily Atsumu lets him do this, surprised by how easily he lets himself do it.  
Atsumu only leads him slowly through about a minute of the song, and then he presses a quick kiss to the top of Kiyoomi’s head before holding the door for him and following him back into the bar.  
The two of them nearly walk into Suna, who is entering the washroom as they leave.

They end up staying longer than an hour— actually closer to three, far outlasting Hinata, who has to be taken home by his boyfriend before 11.  
By quarter to 1, though, Kiyoomi has had enough, and he turns to his teammate, who has been by his side the whole night, as promised.  
“Atsu,” he frowns. “I wanna go home.”  
Atsumu’s face is blank when he looks at him— eyes slightly wide and mouth half open. Kiyoomi lifts an eyebrow as well as he can manage.  
“Uh, right.” Atsumu stutters. “Okay, let’s go.”  
Atsumu leads Kiyoomi around by the shoulders as he says goodbye to everyone he knows, which is almost everyone at the party.  
Eventually, they find their coats at the table and head out the door. Atsumu checks the street for a taxi.  
“Let’s walk.” Kiyoomi requests.  
Atsumu grins at him. “Yer crazy.”  
Kiyoomi shakes his head no.  
“Ya are.” Atsumu disagrees. “It’ll take like fourty minutes, and it’s fuckin’ freezing.”  
“And I’m fucking hot.” Kiyoomi frowns, trying to shrug his jacket off his shoulders to prove his point.  
“Woah there, okay.” Atsumu pulls it back up. “Yer definitely gonna regret that. But we can walk, let’s go.”  
They take off arm in arm, and Kiyoomi knows he’s being clingy on the way home, but Atsumu doesn’t seem to mind. He leans on him the whole walk back, even when he notices the worst of the effects of his drinks starting to fade.  
If Atsumu thinks any of it odd, he doesn’t comment on it, so Kiyoomi says nothing of it either.  
“I’m hungry.” He notices aloud once they’ve nearly reached the hotel.  
Atsumu looks at him. “Oh… ya didn’t eat anythin’ at the bar, didja?” He asks like he already knows the answer, but he waits for Kiyoomi to shake his head anyways.  
“No wonder ya were such a lightweight.”  
Atsumu stops at a convenience store and leads Kiyoomi inside. It’s much too bright in his opinion, but he drapes his arms over Atsumu’s shoulders from behind and hides his eyes in the back of his neck, letting himself be pulled around by his wrists.  
They reach the lobby of their hotel just before 2, and the woman behind the reception desk smiles at them. Atsumu smiles back, and Kiyoomi, quickly tiring, only follows to the elevators.  
“Omi, baby, ya gotta stay on yer feet.” Atsumu laughs, holding him up while he reaches for the button.  
“Hmmm.” Kiyoomi hums, his face back to hiding in Atsumu’s neck. He breathes in the smell of his clothes, shampoo, maybe some sort of lotion or cologne— a combination that just smells like Atsumu. Something he’s gotten so used to.  
He opens his mouth, just barely, and presses it to the soft skin in front of him.  
“Hey now.” Atsumu lifts a hand to tilt his head. “This is our floor.”  
Once out of the elevator, they shuffle down the hallway until they reach their door, and Atsumu leans against the wall. Kiyoomi continues to lean against him.  
Atsumu huffs at this but says nothing, struggling with the white plastic bag of food.  
“Key?” Kiyoomi asks.  
“Uh, in my pocket,” Atsumu explains. “Can ya hold—?”  
Kiyoomi ignores the shopping bag extended to him, and instead reaches his hand into Atsumu’s back pocket.  
“What— front pocket!” Atsumu stutters, but there’s humour in his voice still.  
“Oh.”  
Kiyoomi extracts the key without much problem and opens the door to their room, still half leaning on Atsumu, who gets them both inside with only slight hassle.  
Once Kiyoomi has been dropped onto the end of his bed, he extends his arms for the bag and Atsumu rolls his eyes, but brings it to him nonetheless.  
With careful fingers— fingers Kiyoomi is trying to admire as discreetly as possible— Atsumu unwraps the snacks and passes them to him one at a time.  
They eat in silence, and once he’s no longer hungry, Kiyoomi starts to gather up the plastic garbage into a pile. Atsumu bags the leftover food again before he takes the wrappers and starts to get up. Kiyoomi pulls at his arm.  
“Yer drunk.” Atsumu tells him with a smile, leaning away from Kiyoomi’s accosting mouth. He dumps the plastic in the garbage and drops the grocery bag onto the desk by the wall.  
“I’m not that drunk.” Kiyoomi says truthfully, pouting at Atsumu who stands much too far away. “Just sleepy.”  
Atsumu sighs. “Should we get ya to bed then?” He submits to the press of kisses over his face when he pulls Kiyoomi up and into the bathroom. Atsumu hands him his toothbrush, which he holds out and waits for the toothpaste to be put on for him.  
They brush their teeth side by side, and Kiyoomi stares at the sink— at Atsumu’s hand flat on the counter next to it. He wants to reach for it, but it feels wrong in such a simple setting. It’s quiet, domestic. They’re getting ready for bed. It feels like an invasion of Atsumu’s space that he might not appreciate. There isn’t anything in their rules about this. Part of him wishes he were more drunk still.  
Once his face has been washed— a team effort— Atsumu leads him to bed, ungracefully dumping him onto the sheets.  
“Yer heavy as fuck, Omi-kun.”  
In response, Kiyoomi grumbles a sentence that contains no real words and rolls onto his back. He turns his head to watch Atsumu re-enter the bathroom, where the shower goes on, but the door remains open.  
Kiyoomi isn’t sure exactly what he’s hoping for while he listens again to the water accompanied by Atsumu’s quiet singing— he recognizes the song this time— but he doesn’t want to fall asleep until Atsumu comes back into the room. He’s lying half off the bed in an effort to stay awake when Atsumu finally steps out of the bathroom, pyjamas already on.  
“Omi, what’re ya doing in that position?”  
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi mumbles, ignoring the question. “Can you come here?”  
He gets a confused stare in return, but Atsumu makes his way quietly over to Kiyoomi’s bed.  
“Ya okay, Omi-Omi?”  
Kiyoomi nods, half lidded eyes watching the figure above him.  
“Can you come here?” He repeats, and Atsumu bends down, placing both hands on either side of where Kiyoomi’s upper body is lying.  
They stare at each other, and Kiyoomi asks again, “can you come h—”  
He doesn’t have to finish this time before Atsumu’s mouth is on his own, and suddenly Kiyoomi doesn’t feel so tired anymore. He slides himself back up onto the bed and pulls Atsumu the rest of the way on top of him, enjoying the reaction he gets.  
Atsumu’s weight over him is stifling, and Kiyoomi finds that his legs have migrated to Atsumu’s waist, pulling them even closer. They haven’t kissed like this before.  
It’s different than the past few times. It tastes different, for one— like alcohol, even with the minty taste of toothpaste— and it’s rushed, and holds more charge. Though Kiyoomi isn’t sure whether or not that’s just him.  
His hips move involuntarily when Atsumu runs a hand up his thigh. He hears a faint whimper, and when he realizes it came from his own throat, he drops his legs and hurriedly pushes Atsumu a couple of inches away.  
“I said only kissing.” He reminds himself more than Atsumu.  
“Sorry.” Atsumu lets himself be pushed back, but he doesn’t go far. “But Omi, baby.”  
He’s been overusing the pet name— and its variations— so much that Kiyoomi is actually afraid he’s going to get used to it.  
“Haven’t we passed the point of no return now?” Atsumu continues. “Ya let me kiss ya, call ya babe, I feel like at this point, we should just throw all the rules out the window here. That doesn’t have to mean sex. But it kinda seems like ya want it to. When we leave the room, everythin’ can be normal. But like, what’s the point a’ havin’ rules in here anymore?”  
Atsumu has a point, as stupidly worded as Kiyoomi thinks it is.  
He does want it to mean sex, but still, he hesitates.  
“I… like rules.”  
Atsumu pouts. “Can’t ya just… learn to let things go? Just for the weekend? That’s only tomorrow left, since we’re leavin’ on Monday.”  
Kiyoomi blinks, and he almost gives in.  
“No.” He decides in the end.  
Atsumu pouts. “Can we at least keep makin’ out?”  
Kiyoomi nods. That, he can do.  
They kiss for a long time— at least, it feels like a long time. Kiyoomi only pulls away to fall back onto the bed, his arms still around Atsumu, pulling him down as well.  
His eyelids are heavy, and he presses his nose into the top of Atsumu’s head, unmoving below him.  
He remembers that after tomorrow, Atsumu won’t be his anymore.  
He tells himself it doesn’t matter.  
He wonders if it matters to Atsumu.  
“You know,” Kiyoomi starts, and he blames his next words on whatever small amount of alcohol is still in his system. “I said the reason I never dated anyone was that I was too busy, which was partly true, but also, people never really like me.”  
Atsumu is quiet for a minute, and Kiyoomi listens to the air moving through the AC unit in the room for something to distract himself.  
“S’not true.” Atsumu says eventually. “Loads a’ people like ya. Ushiwaka for example.”  
Kiyoomi sighs. “Wakatoshi and I are good friends, but he never liked me the way I used to like him.”  
“Oh.”  
“Oh.” Kiyoomi echoes.  
“Well, I like ya.” Atsumu says. “And the team. We all do.”  
“You’re all forced to be around me.” Kiyoomi argues passively. “There’s people you like, and there’s people you have to like. People like me are the kind of people you have to like. Or that you don’t like in… in that way.”  
“How can ya even think that after tonight?” Atsumu marvels. “They were so happy to have ya out. I was happy too. Ain't it obvious that I like ya more than I’m forced to, Omi?” He whispers.  
Kiyoomi swallows. “I like you more than I have to.” He mumbles back.  
He’s acutely aware of Atsumu in that moment— one hand on Kiyoomi’s chest, the fingers of his other hand sifting through his curls. Their legs crossed at the ankles. Atsumu’s body is warm, and the comfort of him is lulling Kiyoomi into sleep. He’s pulled back out of it when Atsumu speaks again.  
“I don’t really date a lot of people either.”  
Kiyoomi blinks, and then he laughs softly.  
“Huh?” Atsumu frowns in offence. “I’m tryna bare my soul to ya, Omi-kun. Ya don’t gotta laugh at me.”  
“Sorry,” Kiyoomi laughs again anyways, “but Miya Atsumu telling me he doesn’t get around very much is one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard.”  
Atsumu huffs. “Gettin’ around and datin’ are two different things.”  
“Mmm.” Kiyoomi acknowledges, prompting Atsumu to continue.  
“People like the idea of me— y’know, the me they see at games, or on TV… the real me is a handful. But I’m hot, so they still put up with my personality for a bit.” He tries at a joke, but it just sounds sad to the both of them.  
Kiyoomi isn’t sure what to say, but Atsumu continues in a rush, so he doesn’t have to try to form a response.  
“After a lot of hookups that don’t lead to anythin’ but instagram pictures for clout, ya sorta start to realize that maybe yer the problem.”  
Kiyoomi works his extremely tired and slightly drunk brain to think hard about this. He and Atsumu are two very different people, that lead two very different lives, and have two very diametrically opposing personalities. Yet, at the root of it all, they have two very similar struggles.  
He yawns. “You’re not a problem, Atsumu.”  
It’s all he can think to say, and he means it.  
He misses the way Atsumu’s breath hitches at his words, and doesn't notice the wetness that seeps into the shoulder of his shirt.  
Kiyoomi falls asleep to the quietest version of Miya Atsumu he’s known yet.

~

They go for lunch with Suna the next day at a small restaurant a few blocks from the hotel.  
The headache he woke up with had tempted him to bail, but Atsumu had tossed him a bottle of tylenol and told him to get up.  
So here Kiyoomi is— up— on a much too sunny street with a much too loud companion.  
“Stop talking.” He snaps when Atsumu launches into his third story from the night before, as if Kiyoomi hadn’t been there.  
Atsumu rolls his eyes, but he’s quiet as he leads Kiyoomi the rest of the way through the streets.  
They make it to their destination in less than ten minutes, and in front of the restaurant, a tall figure in a long coat raises an arm in a small wave.  
“Yo, Sunarin!” Atsumu waves back.

The restaurant is quiet, which Kiyoomi appreciates. Suna is quiet too— at least, in comparison to Atsumu, which doesn’t necessarily mean much.  
They talk briefly of the game, then the afterparty, and then their food arrives.  
Kiyoomi starts eating, and Suna directs his attention solely on him for the first time.  
“Sakusa-san, I remember you joining the league last year. Your serves are even scarier than they were back in high-school. What were you doing in the four years before you joined the Jackals?”  
“Oh,” Kiyoomi looks at Suna. “I was at university. And just Sakusa is fine.”  
Suna nods. “That’s impressive. You played on a team, I guess? What did you study?”  
“Biology and health science.” He says. “And yeah, I played in Tokyo.”  
“Omi-kun was the MVP of the university league, Sunarin.” Atsumu interrupts. “His spikes and serves started getting mega scary in his third year.”  
“You keep up with collegiate volleyball?” Kiyoomi frowns at him. After leaving it, even he hasn’t checked up much on the games.  
Atsumu’s cheeks go a little red. “I mean, sometimes, y’know. There could be some up and comers to watch. Like ya.”  
Suna lifts his eyebrows and crosses his arms, pursing his lips around a badly suppressed grin.  
“I think people like Sakusa are pretty rare.” He says.  
Atsumu doesn’t respond then, instead turning his attention to shovelling as many noodles as he possibly can into his mouth.

Kiyoomi doesn’t mind letting Atsumu do almost all of the talking, but he wants nothing more than for his blond companion to close his mouth when he turns to Suna in the middle of a conversation halfway through their meal.  
“Ya better watch out,” Atsumu warns him. “Omi-kun here was eyein’ up yer man. Asked me for his number an’ everythin’.”  
One of Suna’s eyebrows raises in amusement. “Is that so?”  
Kiyoomi, who has only just realized what Atsumu is talking about, glares. “Shut up. I did not.”  
“Come on, ya totally did. Don’t lie, Omi-Omi.”  
Atsumu and Suna both laugh, and Kiyoomi fights the urge to put his face in his hands.  
“It was a joke. At Atsumu’s expense. Fuck you both.”  
Suna’s grin stays on his face and Atsumu only laughs harder. Kiyoomi shoves him with a “shut up, you’re hurting my head”, but he allows himself a smile too.  
So Suna and Osamu… he supposes that means that there was likely never anything between the pair he’s eating lunch with. That makes him feel annoyingly relieved, and somewhat more friendly towards Suna.  
He reminds himself that who Atsumu kisses (or anything else he does with anyone) is none of his business, and he has no sort of claim to Atsumu— especially not considering the terms and conditions he had implemented on their situation.  
The thought doesn't do much for his peace of mind, unfortunately.  
Kiyoomi excuses himself to head to the bathroom after they’ve eaten, and as he’s stepping away, he hears Suna mutter, “you know you’re a terrible liar”, eliciting an indignant squawk from Atsumu.  
He hates overthinking, he decides while he’s washing his hands.  
Atsumu isn’t even worth it— he’s one of the simplest creatures Kiyoomi has ever met. And yet he can’t get his brain to shut up about him.  
Once Kiyoomi’s returned to the table, pitiful thoughts in tow, he sits while they wait for the bill, and Suna pulls out his phone and leans across the table.  
“Wanna see some videos of Osamu beating Atsumu up in highschool? Actually, there’s one from two years ago too…”  
Kiyoomi feels infinitely more friendly towards Suna.

Kiyoomi is still smiling to himself when they reach the hotel, while Atsumu— who can obviously tell he’s grinning despite his mask— has had a permanent pout on his face the whole walk back.  
“It’s not that funny, y’know.” He says as they enter their room.  
Kiyoomi disagrees.  
“Personally, I very much enjoyed seeing you get beat up by your brother.” He says.  
Atsumu tilts his head back in despair.  
“Omi-kun, ya can’t be mean to me like this, it’s Christmas season!” He whines, flopping onto his back at the end of Kiyoomi’s bed.  
“Why should a month of the year dictate how I treat you?”  
“Well, it’s the season of love, and can’t ya just be less prickly in general? Yer like, my closest friend here— don’t tell Hinata I said that— and ya don’t do anythin’ for me.”  
Kiyoomi’s eyebrows move towards his hairline. “Don’t I?”  
Atsumu goes red and he turns his head to face away from Kiyoomi.  
“I think it’s the goddamn season, Omi-kun.” He sighs. “It’s makin’ me feel lonely.”  
Kiyoomi frowns at his roommate.  
“Do it over there, then.” He says, tilting his head to the other side of the room.  
Atsumu gasps in mock hurt, and probably real contempt, and he gets up and shuffles over to the chair by the window. He flops into it, reaching over to tug the decorative blanket off of his bed and wrapping it around his shoulders.  
Kiyoomi wants to laugh, watching him sulk at the glass pane in front of him.  
“Miya.” He says quietly.  
Atsumu ignores him.  
“I’m sorry.” Kiyoomi tries again, feeling a small smile tug at his mouth.  
Atsumu shakes his head, but his eyes betray him.  
“You don’t really have to sit so far away. I can just ignore you if you want to cry on my bed.”  
Atsumu wrinkles his nose to hide the upturn of his mouth and doesn’t turn. “Shaddup.” He mumbles.  
With a sigh, Kiyoomi stands and makes his way to Atsumu’s chair.  
“I’m sorry,” He repeats, dropping his hands to either side of Atsumu’s neck. “Atsumu.”  
He feels the muscles under his hands stiffen, and his little smile grows. Kiyoomi leans down to place his lips by Atsumu’s ear, relishing in the perfectly still, perfectly silent Miya sitting in front of him.  
“Atsumu.” He says again, enjoying the sharp intake of breath from his teammate more than is kind. “Can you forgive me?”  
Atsumu swallows. “I—”  
His words come to an abrupt halt when Kiyoomi latches his mouth to the soft skin under Atsumu’s ear, just by his jaw, and sucks lightly.  
“W—what the fuck, Omi?” Atsumu shudders.  
Kiyoomi pulls back with a soft pop. “Would you like me to stop?”  
Atsumu’s head shakes so quickly that Kiyoomi does laugh then, brushing his thumbs across the skin under his hands.  
He brings his mouth back to Atsumu’s neck and continues his slow kisses, biting and sucking until Atsumu’s head is thrown back, his eyes closed.  
“You’re my closest friend too, Atsumu.” He whispers, and Atsumu whines below him.  
He pulls off after a few minutes and puts a hand on Atsumu’s head. “Good boy.”  
Atsumu blinks an eye open. “Yer a tease, Omi-kun.”  
Kiyoomi laughs lightly, but stops when he notices the already purpling bruise on the spot on Atsumu’s neck where his mouth had previously been.  
“Oops.” He says.  
Atsumu frowns. “Oops, what?” His hand reaches for his neck like he already knows.  
“You’re sensitive.”  
Atsumu gets up and moves to the mirror on the wall behind them, and his eyes widen.  
“Omi-kun, jesus… ya got carried away.”  
“You could have told me to stop.”  
“As if.” Atsumu mutters, still examining his neck. “The teams’ gonna ask about this y’know. What am I supposed to say to them?”  
Kiyoomi shrugs. “You could tell them you were sucking face with someone in the alley outside the bar last night. That would be very on brand for you.”  
“First of all, fuck you.” Atsumu huffs. “Second of all, I was glued to yer side the whole night, so that’s not gonna be super believable. But I guess I can try.”  
Kiyoomi watches him— he supposes you could call it fondly— in the mirror. Atsumu meets his eyes and grins.  
“Maybe I won’t say anythin’. Keep em’ guessin’.”  
Kiyoomi hums. “Whatever you want.”

As it happens, none of their teammates notice the mark during their meal together in the hotel’s restaurant. Or if they do, none of them say anything. Kiyoomi takes that to mean that Inunaki, at least, hasn’t noticed. Though he looks considerably worse for wear that evening, so it’s not a huge surprise.  
Despite the bags under his eyes and hood over his head, he joins in on the conversation, and brightens when Bokuto— who looks more or less fine, though Kiyoomi isn’t sure how— mentions that night’s party.  
“Inu-san,” Hinata looks at him with wide, bleary eyes. “Are you really feeling good enough to go?”  
Inumaki reaches for the top of Hinata’s head and ruffles his hair. “I’m stronger than you are, Shoyou-kun. Maybe you’ll reach my level after a few more years of afterparties.”  
Hinata sulks, and Meian locks an arm around Inumaki’s neck, shaking his head from side to side.  
“Don’t get all full of yourself now.” Their captain teases. “Wasn’t that you throwing up in our bathroom this morning?”  
Inunaki frowns, trying to pry himself out of Meian’s chokehold.  
“I’m fine now.” He says. “Just… don’t shake me so fast.”  
Kiyoomi sympathizes, feeling slightly sick just watching Inumaki’s head move.  
Atsumu, Meian, and Barnes are really the only members of the team that manage to eat anything— identifying them as the only three who had employed any manner of self control the previous night.  
Kiyoomi would normally be among that group, and Atsumu would not, but some piece of him is content to have been a part of the teams experience the night before, and a part of the conversation today. Though one experience might have been enough. Atsumu can have his spot in the lack-of-self-control group back.  
“Did ya see Adriah on the dancefloor last night?” Atsumu laughs. “He was kinda tearin’ the place up.”  
“I was not.” Adriah shakes his head.  
“You were probably better than Atsumu.” Kiyoomi mumbles, just to antagonize, and seven pairs of eyes turn to him.  
He realizes he’d said Atsumu instead of Miya, but it’s too late to take it back— that would just draw more attention to the slip.  
But his teammates just laugh, while Atsumu mutters something about “ungrateful dance partners”.  
And then Kiyoomi is back to overthinking about Atsumu, replaying their dance the night before, wondering what Atsumu thinks of it.  
What does Kiyoomi even think of it?  
Was that just a part of the weekend? It hadn’t seemed like it. It hadn’t seemed like something they should have been doing.  
They’d said and done a lot of things last night that weren’t supposed to leave the room, and Kiyoomi is too scared to ask Atsumu about any of it.  
“I’m done.” Inumaki stands and stretches his arms over his head. “Come on, Shoyou-kun, let’s go to the convenience store down the street and get some stuff for your headache.”  
Hinata hops out of his seat and goes slightly pale, taking one last sip of his water.  
“Yeah, I’m goin’ up now.” Atsumu says, pushing his chair back. He extends an arm once he’s standing. “C’mon Omi-Omi.”  
Kiyoomi flushes, suddenly aware of the eyes of the rest of their teammates on him and Atsumu.  
“I can get myself up.” He grumbles, standing with only mild nausea.  
Atsumu shrugs. “That’s not what you said last night.”  
Meian snorts from his seat at the table, and Inunaki lets out a full blown howl of laughter.  
Kiyoomi is decidedly unimpressed. And extremely embarrassed.  
“Why do you have to say it like that?” He snaps.  
“Like what?”  
“You’re making it sound bad.”  
“I’m just statin’ the facts.” Atsumu says, but the shit eating grin on his face says otherwise. “Ya couldn’t walk after last ni—”  
“Fuck off.” Kiyoomi yanks at the strings of his sweater, shutting him up as he pulls him towards the lobby.  
"Because of the dancing, right?" Bokuto yells after them.  
The peals of their teammates' laughter follow them out of the restaurant.  
The elevator ride up to their floor is silent, and Kiyoomi watches Atsumu’s reflection as he types on his phone.  
“Suna’s comin’ tonight.” Atsumu informs him.  
“Hm.”  
“Ya seemed to get along with him yesterday.”  
“Yeah.” Kiyoomi agrees. “He was cool.”  
Atsumu lifts his head. “Cooler than me?”  
“When have I ever told you you were cool?”  
“I was hoping this would be the first time.” Atsumu frowns at him in mock annoyance. “Thought I might be able to trick ya since yer fucked up.”  
“I was fucked up last night.” Kiyoomi corrects. “Now I’m just irritable.” He points Atsumu with a look.  
Atsumu just laughs. “Does that face mean, _I’m irritable so shut the fuck up because yer on thin fuckin’ ice right now?”_  
“Exactly.” Kiyoomi mumbles, stepping out of the elevator doors and onto their floor.  
Atsumu follows.  
“Yer always irritable as hell, Omi-kun, so don’t think ya can deter me. I've hardly noticed a difference.”  
The door to their room clicks open and Atsumu pulls him in by the waist and kisses him as soon as they enter, and then he skips into the washroom. The shower goes on and Kiyoomi blinks at the door Atsumu had just shut behind him before dragging his feet to his bed and collapsing.  
He listens to Atsumu sing in the shower with a frown on his face, though he isn’t sure whether it’s due to the embarrassment he’d just been subjected to, his pounding headache, or the knowledge that Atsumu would only be kissing him like that for approximately another 15 hours.  
Kiyoomi still hasn’t moved when Atsumu emerges from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. He hurries to where Kiyoomi lies to press a very wet kiss to the side of his mouth. Atsumu’s hair drips evidence of his shower onto Kiyoomi’s face, and he makes a noise of contempt.  
“Gross.”  
“Yeah, yeah.”  
Kiyoomi turns to face the wall while he listens to Atsumu dig through his suitcase, and turns back over when Atsumu puts a hand on his leg.  
He’s wearing a black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, and the hood up over his head makes his blond dye job stand out strikingly. Kiyoomi becomes aware that Atsumu looks good— something he’d always known, of course, but right now, in a sweatsuit with wet hair and bags under his eyes, he looks more beautiful than he should.  
Something about it is sort of annoying.  
Kiyoomi pulls him in for a kiss.  
“Are ya gonna come down?” Atsumu looks at him hopefully when they break apart.  
Kiyoomi hesitates, and then he shakes his head slowly. “You know I won’t like it.”  
“I know, I know, Omi-Omi.” Atsumu nods, and to his credit, he only pouts a little bit. He doesn’t even beg.  
Kiyoomi tells himself he’s happy about that.  
“I’ll see you later, then.”  
Kiyoomi nods, and Atsumu leaves the room.

Not an hour later, Kiyoomi’s phone lights up with a message. A photo of Atsumu holding up a peace sign and Bokuto giving the camera a thumbs up, both in swimsuits, both sporting wide grins, greets him when he presses the notification. Below the image, a single line of text.  
From **Miya** 🖕  
_Sure u don’t wanna come down??_  
Kiyoomi, weak as he is— though who could blame him— takes one look at Atsumu’s abs and decides it probably couldn’t hurt.

He was completely wrong.  
The minute he gets down, he’s swarmed by the Jackals, as well as some of the Raijins, and other people in the vicinity. It’s just about enough to make him turn around and go back to his room, but then Atsumu appears, pulling on his arm, and Kiyoomi is stumbling after him.  
He notes Atsumu’s red face and erratic movements immediately— he’s already drunk, and more than he had been the night before.  
“Here.” Atsumu lays out a clean towel at the edge of the hot tub, and Kiyoomi sits down.  
Atsumu disappears for less than 30 seconds, and returns with a red plastic cup.  
“Drink this.”  
Kiyoomi looks at the cup disdainfully— the correct reaction in his opinion, since he hadn’t seen where it had come from— and Atsumu laughs.  
“Don’t worry, Omi. I didn’t piss in it.”  
Kiyoomi’s lip curls and he places the cup on the ground beside him. “That’s not what I was worried about. But now I’m seriously concerned for Osamu’s health and safety.”  
Atsumu laughs. “It’s too late for him, don’t waste yer worry.”  
They sit side by side and Atsumu drops his feet into the hot water below them, his thigh brushing against Kiyoomi’s every time he kicks his leg in a slow circle.  
“Y’know, I really liked bein’ yer roommate this weekend.”  
Kiyoomi hums. He thinks about saying it back, but he isn’t sure how to without doing something stupid. Atsumu’s admission feels dismally like a goodbye.  
There’s a pause, and the air between them seems to thicken. Maybe it’s just the steam from the hot tub.  
“Kiyoomi, I—”  
Whatever Atsumu had been about to say is interrupted by a— once again— very drunk Inunaki, who drapes his arms across both of their shoulders from behind.  
“Hey, you guys.”  
Kiyoomi grimaces and tries to lean away— he can smell Inumaki’s armpit from behind his neck, and it does not smell like he’d remembered to take a shower before coming down.  
“Hey…” Atsumu says awkwardly, and Kiyoomi thinks anyone should be able to tell they’d interrupted something when Atsumu’s demeanor has turned awkward and subdued.  
Inumaki is clearly not just anyone. At least, not when he’s been drinking.  
“I just wanted you both to know,” he starts, “that you don’t have to feel weird around me or the team.”  
Kiyoomi swallows and turns to share a look with Atsumu. He finds no answers on his face.  
“We all love you both, and just want you to be happy.” Inunaki says. “So you should do what makes you happy.” He waits expectantly, but Kiyoomi, for the life of him, can’t think of a response. Atsumu seems just as lost for words.  
“That’s all.” Inunaki says.  
He sends an indiscreet thumbs up behind him, and when Kiyoomi turns, Bokuto and Adriah are watching from the other side of the pool.  
“Um, okay.” Atsumu says eventually, and Inunaki takes that as his cue to stand.  
He shuffles towards the rest of their team, and Kiyoomi stares into the water. Whatever moment he and Atsumu had been in the middle of is shattered.  
“Fuckin’ Wan-san.” Atsumu grumbles. “I’ll be right back.”  
Kiyoomi watches him disappear and then turns and examines his fingers awkwardly. It isn’t as though he’s really planning on striking up conversation with anyone else at the event.  
He thinks about their game the other night for something to do— something that doesn’t lead him down a confusing, winding road of thinking about Atsumu— but comes to the conclusion that since Atsumu is on his team, that isn’t going to work.  
Suna passes him and stops to say hi for a minute, and Kiyoomi is glad for the distraction from thinking at all, especially about Atsumu, who is taking an annoyingly long time of whatever it is he’s gone to do.  
When he’s left alone again and it becomes clear that Atsumu is not going to be “right back”, Kiyoomi purses his lips and takes a glance around the room. Finding nothing in his immediate field of view, he cranes his neck, searching for the blond head in the crowd— and then he wants to be sick.  
Atsumu is standing by the poolside bar, and he’s surrounded by at least eight women. They’re pressing up against him, fawning over him, and he’s so clearly enjoying it. Something like disgust wells up in Kiyoomi’s throat when one of the women reaches up to feed Atsumu a piece of fruit.  
_I don’t care_ , he tells himself. _I really don’t care_.  
He turns away, willing himself not to think about it for long enough to have to admit to his own brain that he’s lying.  
He tries to focus on something else, but he doesn’t want his feet in the water anymore, and the noise of the place is starting to give him a headache. Or maybe it’s Atsumu that’s doing that.  
He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, angrily watching the water swirl below him. He doesn’t even like hot tubs. Or pools. Or drinking. Or parties. He has rules, reasons for not coming to these things, and he’s forgone them all for Atsumu, who is 20 feet away being hand fed grapes.  
Kiyoomi looks up when a shadow passes over him, and his frown deepens when a man around his age steps into the water and sits much closer to him than is necessary.  
“Hey.” The man smiles at him.  
Kiyoomi stares, blinks, and then he stands and steps away from the hot tub as quickly as he can.  
He zeroes in on the exit, and the rest of the room blurs out of focus.  
How stupid could he be? Of course Atsumu doesn’t care about what they’re doing together— what Kiyoomi had decided they were only allowed to do for this one weekend in secret.  
He’d let himself get too comfortable over the last few days. Too attached. How had it happened so quickly? Atsumu had been right the first day they’d arrived. It’s more embarrassing for him to be involved with Kiyoomi. Atsumu is likeable, popular, friendly— anyone in their right mind would want to be near him. It isn’t Kiyoomi’s fault for being one of the poor souls caught in the riptide.  
He’s just one of the ones that Atsumu would leave out to drown— that’s become painfully clear to him now.  
He shakes his head at himself for thinking that he was special.  
Bokuto notices him as he’s leaving and starts to say something, but Kiyoomi drags his eyes down and pretends he hadn’t heard anything. The doors fly open under his hands and the cool air of the hallway meets his face. The elevators waiting at the end look like a shining doorway to heaven, and he stomps towards them, wishing he were in the shower already.  
“Kiyoomi!”  
He ignores the voice yelling down the hall.  
“Kiyoomi, stop!”  
It bounces off the walls around him but he pushes forward.  
“Hey!” Atsumu’s hand is at his wrist, not forceful, but Kiyoomi turns violently.  
“Why did you invite me down?” He stares at Atsumu. “If you were just going to ignore me like that the whole time?”  
Atsumu opens his mouth, and holds it that way silently for multiple seconds.  
“I thought… ya said what happened between us shouldn’t leave the hotel room, so obviously ya didn’t care.” He says eventually. “But I wanted to get… _something_ , Kiyoomi, I wanted a reaction— I’m so sick of the way you’ve been acting—”  
“That’s not fair, Atsumu!” Kiyoomi nearly wails.  
“What about what yer doin’?” Atsumu retorts. “Yer not being fair either!”  
“I… made it clear. Where we stood. The first night. We both know..." _That this is over tomorrow._ He doesn't need to finish his sentence— they both hear it.   
“With yer words, yeah.” Atsumu pouts, and Kiyoomi ruefully thinks it shouldn’t be as endearing right now as it is. “But yer actions were tellin’ me somethin’ completely different.”  
“Well,” Kiyoomi frowns. “Words are what matters. What you have to listen to—”  
“Did I not?” Atsumu’s hands move to his hips. “Did I make ya do something ya didn’t want to do?”  
Silence.  
“Did I, Kiyoomi?”  
Kiyoomi shakes his head.  
“I don’t get you.” Says Atsumu.  
He waits, and when Kiyoomi doesn’t respond, he turns to leave.  
Kiyoomi stares at his feet as he hears Atsumu take two, then three steps away from him, and then he lifts his head.  
“I do care.”  
“Hm?” Atsumu turns and looks at him, tired.  
“I do care. Happy?”  
Atsumu’s gaze is careful. “Not really.”  
“Neither am I.”  
“I guess we’re even, then.” Atsumu says.  
Kiyoomi takes a deep breath.  
“I’m sorry.” He finds the two words sting much more when he really does have something to be sorry for.  
Atsumu sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry too. Yer right, I was bein’ a dick. I’m gonna go back to…” He gestures over his shoulder where the party is still in full swing, unaware of their predicament.  
Kiyoomi on the other hand, is extremely aware of the fact that tomorrow morning they’re leaving, and this… whatever it is that he and Atsumu have been doing, will end.  
“I guess I’ll go to sleep.” He says. “Maybe I’ll see you when you get back.”  
Atsumu blinks. “I might… maybe I’ll stay with Shoyou and Bokkun tonight.” He says.  
Kiyoomi feels his throat constrict, but he nods. “Okay.”  
He lowers his gaze to the brown and grey carpet they’re standing on— Atsumu is barefoot, but Kiyoomi doesn’t spare a second thought to it then. He’s almost relieved when he turns around, but he only makes it fourteen steps down the hallway, more than enough time for Atsumu to have disappeared back through the door, before he turns back. Except Atsumu isn’t gone. Atsumu is standing where he was before, watching him.  
There’s a furrow between his eyebrows, and his bottom lip juts out slightly.  
“Kiyoomi.”  
And then Kiyoomi feels his feet move as if they have a mind of their own, and he runs the gap of fourteen steps in five.

Later, when Kiyoomi thinks about what happened that night, he can’t even explain it to himself.  
It was good, that’s all he knows— all he needs to know. It’s there in theory, in fragments of memory— it happened. But he isn’t sure exactly how.  
He isn’t sure how they crashed into each other in the middle of the hallway like they were the only two people left on earth. He isn’t sure how Atsumu’s tongue ended up in his mouth, how they ended up in his bed.  
How they’re still lying together after the fact, Atsumu’s arms tight around his waist, Atsumu’s face pressed into his neck, Atsumu’s mouth leaving lazy trails of kisses on his skin. Kiyoomi’s arms are across his shoulders, one hand carding through his hair.  
“I think I liked this better than kissin’.” Atsumu mumbles.  
Kiyoomi scoffs. “I could tell.”  
“Wow. Okay.” Atsumu pretends to pull himself off of Kiyoomi, who pretends to wrangle him back in.  
They struggle until Atsumu is facing away, his back pressed to Kiyoomi’s chest. He keeps his arms around tight around Atsumu, as if he might try to escape.  
“I liked it better than kissing too.” Kiyoomi says, closing his eyes to the feeling of Atsumu trailing light fingers over his forearms.  
“Mhm. I could tell.”  
Kiyoomi huffs into the back of Atsumu’s head, too tired to give another response.  
“Goodnight, Kiyoomi.” Atsumu says, and it’s the last thing he hears.

~

“Tsum-Tsum!” A voice sings in Kiyoomi’s ears what feels like much too early in the morning to be yelling. “You left your room key down at the party last night, also the bus is getting here in 45 minutes and Meian-san told me to— oh.”  
Kiyoomi’s head snaps up and off of its very comfortable spot on Atsumu’s chest at the realization that the voice is Hinata’s, and it’s coming from inside their room.  
He and Atsumu scramble, sitting bolt upright in the single bed in unison. Kiyoomi's side hits the wall and Atsumu crashes the floor, the sheets falling off with him.  
“Ow!”  
Kiyoomi hardly notices Atsumu’s whining, struggling to make sure the comforter isn't pulled off of him as well.  
“Um, I’ll just—” Hinata’s face is red, and he turns so violently that he collides with the wall. He reels back as though he’d bounced off. “Agh…”  
Atsumu sits up from the floor, squinting in the light. “Shoyou-kun, are ya alright?”  
“Yeah, yeah!” Hinata waves the question away, backing towards the door. “I’m so sorry—”  
He holds a hand over his face, the room key still clutched in his other fist.  
“Are ya sure yer okay?” Atsumu frowns at him. “Yer nose is bleedin’…”  
“It’s probably just broken from slamming into the wall!” Hinata says, and in the mirror in the entryway Kiyoomi can see his reflection scrambling with their door handle. “I should go to the hospital right now! Bye!”  
And then the door slams behind him.  
There’s a moment of silence, and Kiyoomi can see Atsumu staring at him out of the corner of his eye.  
“He took the key with him.” Kiyoomi says.  
“He might not tell anyone…” Atsumu speaks a second later.  
“He will.”  
“Yeah.”  
Kiyoomi brings a hand to his hair and lightly twirls a strand while he considers.  
“I don’t care.” He decides.  
“Ya don’t?” Atsumu’s eyes widen. “Why?”  
“Because,” Kiyoomi starts, and he knows he’s going to regret this. “I kind of want this to leave the room with us.”  
At the look Atsumu gives him then, he finds regret is the last feeling growing in his chest.  
He doesn’t even care when the team groupchat lights up Atsumu’s phone.  
From **Inu-san** 🥵  
_Bo, u owe me 10000 ¥_

Maybe it’s the goddamn season.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello thank u for reading  
> This was based off an experience btwn me and a friend LOL but only the beginning part like there was no drama and idt she and I will be dating ever  
> Also I really should have been doing school work instead of writing this but I can't bring myself to study I h8 second yr and the end of year online school burnout is real 😃  
> Complain to me abt something in the comments so I can procrastinate more


End file.
